Norma promises herself she won't cry.

Despite the hot, throbbing pain radiating from her foot and the even hotter fear coursing through every inch of her, she refuses to cry. This man—whoever he is—clearly wants her to be scared, and she won't give him the satisfaction.

After a couple minutes of walking silently, they come upon a black sedan parked in the middle of the woods, billowing steam from its back in the freezing morning air. Unconsciously, Norma holds onto the man carrying her just a bit tighter as they approach it, her heart beginning to pound as she stares apprehensively at the ominous vehicle.

Another man, the one that had shoved her against the wall last night, climbs out of the passenger's seat when he spots them. He's enormous, towering above even the man carrying her, who must be his boss from the way he starts barking orders in what sounds like Spanish right away.

Norma hates the way this new man looks at her. The moment he gets out of the car, he glares at her like she doesn't deserve to be alive, like she's not worth his time to even pay attention to. The man holding her says something she can't begin to understand in whatever language they're speaking, and she watches his eyes change slightly. He at least isn't looking at her like she's the scum of the Earth anymore, but this isn't much better—he looks at her like she's meat.

She can't stand to look at the way that man is looking at her anymore, so she's grateful when the boss trails around to the back of the car and sets her down on her one good foot, letting her lean back against the bumper for balance.

He meets her eyes, and in this little clearing, she can see his face much better, and she almost gasps. His eyes are so striking, a deep, warm brown, framed with the thickest natural eyelashes she's ever seen on a woman, let alone a man. His entire face is chiseled like an artist carved him out of stone, the tiniest hints of dimples on either side of his mouth.

At least he's hot. If she had to spend her life paying a sex debt to an ugly man, she isn't sure she'd make it.

Catching her staring at him, the man's lips twitch into what can barely be called a smirk as he raises his eyebrows, a certain arrogance that she's certain he doesn't need any more of seeping into his eyes for a moment. To her relief, he doesn't tease her about it, even as her cheeks flush a bit at being caught.

A moment later, the other man appears again at one end of the car, and Norma glances up to see another man, one she's never seen before, at the other side, the three of them effectively trapping her against the car. Instantly, panic strikes through her, her eyes darting around between all of the men fearfully, terrified of their next move.

When the leader speaks, his voice is calm, serious, but almost gentle. "You understand why we can't let you ride in the backseat, don't you?" He asks slowly, a hint of threat in his voice.

"W-What?" Norma squeaks. She gasps like he might hurt her when he suddenly reaches around behind her, the unexpected movement spooking her already on-edge brain. With a click, he pops open the trunk of the car, withdrawing without another word and looking at her pointedly.

They want to put her in the trunk?

"N-No, please," she gasps, glancing between the dark, cramped space and the man desperately. "I won't try to run, I promise. Please don't make me– Please, I won't do anything–"

"I know you won't," he nods, holding his hand out silently to his second henchman.

Norma's eyes blow wide as the other man places a single zip tie into his hand, turning her eyes back up to the leader's face and fighting with everything in her not to cry, the way she'd promised herself.

"You're gonna be good and let me put these on you, aren't you?" He says, more than a little hint of threat in his tone. At the panic that floods her face, he adds, "Don't make this difficult, babygirl. You're gonna go either way."

Norma gulps, looking between the three of them hesitantly for a second. The leader is the smallest of all of them, and he had still easily overpowered her in the woods. With only one good leg and three of them all crowded around her, watching her every move…he's right. They're going to put her in the trunk no matter what.

Finally, she meets his eyes, furiously holding back her tears, and nods meekly.

"Give me your wrists," he instructs her firmly. With her lip quivering, Norma squeezes her eyes shut and obeys. This all feels so wrong. Isn't she supposed to fight? She should be clawing tooth and nail to get away, refusing to let him stuff her in the trunk of a car in the middle of the woods and take her somewhere to make her his personal prostitute, not willingly giving him her hands so he can tie her up.

But she has no other option. If she fights him, if she makes his life difficult even in the slightest, he will have no reason to keep her alive. He could kill her at the drop of a hat, at the tiniest misstep or peep of resistance, and then this all would've been for nothing. No, she truly does have no other choice. She has to get home in one piece, whatever it takes.

By some miracle, Norma manages to keep her tears at bay while the man tightens the ties around her wrists, not painfully, but certainly not loosely either. When she opens her eyes, they take a moment to focus through all of the moisture, and by the time they do, it's too late for her to notice the hood in his hand.

The shock of being suddenly plunged into darkness is enough to finally squeeze a tear from her eye as she gasps and chokes on her breath. Once the first tear escapes, the seal is broken, and almost immediately, the little drops are streaming down her cheeks as she fights to restrain her sobs.

The hood has a hole in it, just below her nose. A bullet-sized hole.

Norma lets out a shaky, horrified breath as the realization washes over her, knowing all three of them must be able to see how furiously her hands are trembling with them still held out in front of her.

Still, the leader pays her no mind. He just lifts her back up off of the one foot she's been leaning on, ignoring her panicked shriek at suddenly losing contact with the ground in the dark. He gathers her against his body once again, but with her wrists bound, she has nothing to hold onto, no steadiness except for the strength in his arms holding her tightly against him.

Norma gasps softly at the feeling of being laid down on her side, a hard surface with a cheap carpet over it that makes it no less uncomfortable underneath her. By the time she recognizes it as the inside of the car, the trunk is slamming closed above her, and what was mostly dark a moment ago is now pitch black.

And finally, Norma sobs.

For a few seconds, there's no sound but her own crying and the slamming of three doors. After a moment of silence, she's suddenly jolted by the spluttering of the car engine turning over, then the lurching of the vehicle springing into movement. It takes everything in her not to be sick as the car bumps and bounces and turns unexpectedly, hot tears rolling over her cheeks as the realization finally sets in.

How the hell did she get here?

She should never have agreed to go to that party. She should have made herself busy the moment she got there instead of trying to stall, wandering aimlessly, waiting for someone to find her. She should have knocked. How did she go from giving Dylan a kiss goodnight to tied up in the trunk of a murderer's car?

Dylan.

He's probably so confused by now. And hungry. She'd put him to bed just before she left for the party, thinking she'd be home before he ever woke up. By now, the sun is rising and he'll be waking up any minute, crying for her. She knows she should have gotten him a babysitter, but it was supposed to be a quick shift.

Everything was supposed to be fine.

It feels like they drive for hours, and all Norma can do is sob. The pain in her foot is bordering on unbearable. She hasn't had a meal since lunch yesterday. She still doesn't know if she'll even live to have another one. Was she supposed to be keeping track of the turns? Trying to figure out where they were going? But there's no point to that, she knows. Who would she even call? Where would she go if she tried to escape? Back to the apartment she can't afford, with the address that they'll already know? She could call–

No. Not him.

There's no one to help her, no way out of this that doesn't end with her dead and Dylan left all alone. She has no choice but to go through with it, to be this drug dealer/gang leader/mafioso's personal prostitute and hope to keep his attention—and keep herself alive—until Dylan is old enough to take care of himself.

Only twelve years to go.